Stranger than Fiction
by SoraaTsuikii
Summary: Carter Collins was a girl who understood better than anything the price of survival. In fact, she willingly sold her humanity for it, choosing to follow some lunatic on his destructive path. However, when a group of young heroes pass her by on a mission, Carter has to reevaluate the how much her survival has actually cost her. Dark themes, twisted characters. AU.
1. She Met Them As Strangers

**First story on this account, first YJ story ever. Sorry I don't know a lot about the DC fandom but I will be mixing in a lot of elements from other universes and the like (maybe). Ummm... yeah, critiques would be awesome I guess, same as just normal comments or ideas, and this will eventually veer off canon (cuz I've never seen YJ: Invasion).**

**This story will have dark themes.**

Chapter One: She Met Them As Strangers

August 26, 2010

Gotham City, Narrows

04:16 hours

The Narrows wasn't her home—that lovely title went to Bludhaven—but even she knew a quiet Narrows was a dangerous Narrows, and it was dead silent at the moment. The only thing was, the danger hiding within the hush was none other than her and her partner, and as long as no one got in their way, no one would get hurt. She hoped at least.

Climbing through another shattered window and onto a rusted fire escape, she noticed the dark blur in her peripherals jump to the next rooftop above her. He didn't bother looking to see if she'd follow, she always would somehow or another. If she didn't, they might as well count her as dead.

"How can he jump around with that shit on his back," she grumbled out petulantly, shifting the heavy bag on her back. The metal canister had started jabbing her just under her T8 vertebrae, and she could admit honestly that it was as painful as it was hefty. And the thing was pretty hefty.

She groaned and stopped her foot lightly, jumping at the rattle in surprise.

She brushed back her hair with a blush in a momentary reprieve before mounting atop the safety railing. The girl thanked her lucky stars that it was sturdy before launching herself off to a ledge opposite her with a grunt, hands finding place on a crumbling window sill. Kicking against the wall, her back arched and her feet sailed above her and into another decrepit apartment. The rest of her body followed smoothly.

There were two children huddling there, but neither spared her a glance as she darted through. This was the Narrows, they knew that if the person vaulting through their window had wanted them dead—or worse—there was nothing they could do about it, so why waste the energy?

A slip of pale gold hair twisted in from of her face. Skidding around a corner and towards another dilapidated window to another dilapidated building, the girl huffed and attempted to tuck it into her headgear. It was unsuccessful as always, and the tresses danced playfully at her jaw and neck once again.

This time she didn't pause to readjust, leaping to a less than sturdy railing before vaulting off it and into the next apartment. An echoing clang from the fallen metal behind her raced at her heels as she sprinted off.

A tiny beep interrupted her run just enough for her to look at the screen attached to her wrist. The red dot was pulsing just in front of her on the map, unmoving. She pouted. What did the bastard want now?

The next window wasn't a window at all, but instead a crumbling hole in the wall. No fire escape and no opposing entrance. But that was fine with her, she knew she didn't need to go forward, but rather up. Licking her lips and grimacing at the plastic taste of lipstick, the blonde girl grappled up and scaled the building.

When her fingers found rest at the roof, she swung the bag up above her before hauling herself up after it. Puffing lightly at the exercise, she bit out, "What do you want now?" She grabbed at her arm to stop it from trembling with strain.

The daunting figure in front of her dwarfed her small frame, even while crouching. She could vaguely see the ripple of muscles on his back in the dark of the city. Whether it was because of amusement or anger, she didn't know and she didn't think she wanted to.

Instead of answering, a large arm swung out and pointed downwards. That's when she heard it: voices. Loud chatter and confident laughs. There were only two types of people who had the gall to act like that in places like these, and one type was looming in front of her menacingly.

Had the League picked up on their movements? She didn't know that their job would even hit their radar, being a simple courier mission. Moving some random mud from one place to another seemed innocent enough, though she guessed with all the hush-hush about who their client was and where their target-point was it could be something darker. She wouldn't know. She didn't want to know the horrible things she had sold her soul to and he never obliged her ghost of curiosity.

Growling in annoyance, the girl walked to the edge of the roof, steps lost in the light hum of a breeze. As she brushed by the man encased in black, his rumbling voice wafted into her ear: "Kill them. I'll finish the drop off."

It took all her restraint not to falter at his words, and it took even more than that not to flinch away from the hand that nabbed the heavy bag from her grip. She attempted to cover it up with a sneer, but knew it wasn't nearly as solid as she needed it to be.

"I'm not killing anyone for you," she hissed, stopping next to him to follow his finger. However, all protective anger flashed away and her eyes widened in horror at what she saw. Her breath caught. All snarky retorts and angry jabs at him fluttered away, leaving raw fear.

She was naked when he laughed, more of a snarl really, and pushed back the pesky clump of silver-gold hair to bare her ear, to bare her neck in dominance. His hand was bigger than her entire, prepubescent face. It could easily snap her neck with barely a squeeze of his super-sterioded muscles. "We made a deal, girl," he mumbled. "When I say jump, you jump. When I say bark, you bark. When I say bite…"

She shuddered against the feel of his calloused fingers brushing against her jugular.

"You _bite._"

One of the children wearing bright yellow below her—he couldn't be older than fifteen, she swore—tripped and landed on his face to the laughter of those around him.

"But… but they're just kids, I can't do it!" the girl cried in a whisper, frantically scanning the faces of those who were soon to pass beneath her, unsuspecting. She rubbed her thumb nervously on the side of her index finger before suddenly switching the movement to fixing a pocket on her cargo pants. When that was done, she returned to rubbing her finger.

She let out a great breath she didn't know was jailed up in her lungs when the man's hand returned to him and he leaned away.

"You're thirteen yourself, girl, yet you have killed. Doesn't that make you an adult?" The absolute monotone of the voice chilled her to the bone. Sure, she had lied before, stolen before, hell she _had_ killed before… but that was survival. She had thought that life was behind her. He had never asked her to kill for him before.

These kids, smirking, laughing, and bright eyed with happiness, they were in front of her. And they didn't even know that death lurked above them, watching from the fire escape. Her thumb's fingernail bit into her skin, drawing blood. She just couldn't do it. She wouldn't.

She growled, roots of her hair growing out and angry red with a tingle in her scalp. "But our job is to deliver the package, not attack a bunch of children," she barked, sending the stink eye over to the unaffected man. "Besides, it was my choice to become a killer, and an adult. These kids look so-"

"Stranger." Immediately she stopped talking, flickering wide eyes to her handler. They were wide with fear. "They were no longer kids the moment they donned those masks. And you do as I say."

She gulped, a nervous gulp that tore down her amazingly dry throat. An attempt at licking her lips ended with more discomfort, so the muscle jumped back into her worrying mouth.

That was it. It was final. With the masks and suits that protected them from the general populace they had signed their death certificate and she couldn't refuse; she owed him that. She promised him that. No matter what she wanted, it didn't matter in this moment.

Unclenching her hands in resignation, her heart steeled. _I'm sorry, but you guys really shouldn't have walked by here today_, she thought morosely—no, emotionlessly—while she glanced down at her prey. Totally oblivious, they were chatting away in their uniforms so early in the morning. Maybe celebrating a job well done, stopping a theft or another murder on the streets. It wasn't implausible, she knew the character of these types of streets well, after all.

One spoke up, the girl with green skin, and worry laced her tone. It reflected in the nervous padding of her fingers against her thigh. "Do you think Artemis will be alright, being in jail and all?"

The girl's ears twitched at the familiar name, even though her handler didn't budge at the words. His face was still turned downwards, waiting. The man always knew when she was attempting to stall in a gamble to change her orders. It obviously wasn't working any better that night than it did any other night.

Rule number two: orders were God.

"Come on, it's not like she's in Gotham's jail. It's Star City we're talking about. Besides, the Green Arrow won't let anything happen to her," the shortest of them reasoned. His smirking mouth was happily munching on an apple, blissfully unaware.

"_Now_, girl," rumbled the man beside her, hulking form shifting from neutral to violent. Looked like her stalling was over.

Rule number one: your own survival came before others'.

A sad sigh escaped from her lips.

They wouldn't know what hit them.

And with one last quiet breath released into the world, she dropped without a sound, pushing a solid kick into the face of a teenager wearing a bright yellow suit. His red hair dyed even richer as blood seeped into it after he smacked into the concrete.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, wasting only enough time to say the words before springing away on her hands. Her eyes slowly crawled away from the unmoving boy on the ground—hopefully he was knocked out cold, maybe she could get away with saying she thought she had killed him—to latch onto bright blue eyes set in the countenance of a young Superman. The teen was charging at her with fist pulled back for a punch. She would have snorted at the obvious intentions if the situation were any different; as it was though, if she did her job right that boy would be bleeding out on the ground in no time.

She paled, but never hesitated. _He_ taught her what happened when she hesitated. Instead, she smoothly stepped out of the way of the bull-like teen just in time to get smashed in the face by an invisible force and thrown into the air.

She closed her eyes against the pain, focusing on it in an attempt to stop the spinning. She didn't want to fight them, let alone kill them, but she was given her orders and she couldn't refuse. Not anymore. Biting her lip ferociously, the girl forced back the self-pity bubbling in her chest and locked it down. She was but a weapon right now. If they didn't die, she did.

Snapping her eyes open, she quickly twisted mid-air to barely brush past another heavy swing of the miniature Superman's fist before her toes kissed the ground and she stumbled backwards. The girl barely had time to roll back and onto her feet when a distortion passed an inch from her nose.

Swaying for a moment before shaking her head, her eyes quickly took in her odds. A smoldering black haired teen with anger issues, black T-shirt with a red Superman logo: Superboy. A green skinned girl with freckles and red hair who shimmered into her vision, cape fluttering behind a white shirt with a red x: Miss Martian, niece of Martian Manhunter. A dark-skinned boy with pale blue eyes and close cut blonde hair, glowing black tattoos twirling down his arms: Aqualad, apprentice of Aquaman.

Then her eyes flickered to the ground. Kid Flash: down for the count.

"One down, four to… go… shit! Shit shit!" she cussed out, deflecting another heavy blow from Superboy before jumping backwards away from the follow up by Aqualad, water knives singing through the air. Where had the boy wonder gone? He definitely didn't have the profile to run from a fight, tricky deceptive fighting skills aside.

Her eyes scanned the rooftops of the crumbling and scummy high-rises about her, yet no shadow passed through her line of sight. Her handler had disappeared as well, and all she wanted to do was open her mouth to let loose another string of curses, but her tirade was cut off before it even began.

"Oof!" she grunted, flying back towards Superboy's fist as a lid of a nearby trachcan hovering in the air slammed into her back. With a narrow-eyed glare at Miss Martian, whose eyes were glowing ominously green, she hastily shifted to take the hit to her right shoulder before pirouetting into the angry teen's guard.

Latching onto his arm with both of hers, she planted her feet into the ground and focused all her attention to her limbs before flinging him over her shoulder and into a panicked green alien girl flying their way. The two slammed into a building wall, leaving a decently sized crater. With barely a flick of the wrist, two daggers flew in their direction, finding home with the slick sound of cutting flesh.

Don't flinch.

Hopefully that would be that with those two.

Don't. Flinch.

A tired frown found its way onto her face, a bit of sweat dripping from her hairline to get trapped into her headband, following its edges down the side of her face and to her jaw where the drop finally broke free and fell to the murky ground. Luckily the small confines of the alley had narrowed their attacking range. Coordinated assault was limited for them.

Now, though, she really needed to stop that last one before the stupid bird-

The hairs on the back of her neck standing on end was the only warning she received before sharp slash behind her tore into her shirt. She assumed the gift was from Aqualad's water blades.

Before she could recover, she was pulled by an invisible force to another punch of a not dead Superboy, this time connecting with her cheek as a loud crack resounded through the alley.

Spiraling towards the ground, unseen bindings wrapped around her body, holding her arms tight to her sides and preventing her from catching herself during the fall. Instead, momentum dragged her across the ground and through the garbage littering the concrete. Only when she stopped moving was there a reprieve. She could feel the blood seeping from the wound and the burn of road rash.

Well, they weren't as dead as she thought. She didn't know whether to feel frustrated or relieved.

"Aqualad! Kid is fine, he's just out for now!" The relief in the naïve Martian's voice poured into her own veins, burning away a certain degree of anxiety plaguing there. She hated herself for that anxiety and hated herself more for wishing it wasn't present.

The girl mumbled something intelligible against the protest of her most-likely broken jaw and released a sigh, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Good," Aqualad commented. The bound girl heard the light shuffling of footsteps and allowed a slit of light to enter her retinas. She could see dark-skinned feet, bare and dirty from battle. "Who are you and what was your purpose of attacking us?"

Muscles tensing, she focused on agony in her jaw, feeling the sensation intensifying into a shattering and burning pain. She didn't answer the young sidekick or hero or whatever they were calling themselves now. She couldn't, really, in her state.

"He asked you a question," the lower voice of Superboy threatened. Finally, the pain in her jaw subsided and she opened it and clapped it shut experimentally. It would do for now.

"Why should I tell you that, wannabe?"

"What was-!"

Her eyes narrowed into slits when the Kryptonian boy suddenly shut his mouth, choosing instead to glare at Miss Martian before crossing his arms and stalking away in anger. She switched her attention between the two aliens before catching the green one's gaze flicking to Aqualad for a meaningful second. Said Atlantean looked troubled for a moment before he sighed, shook his head, and turned back to her as Miss Martian smiled lightly and followed after her partner.

The confusion of the wordless exchange swirled in her groggy mind before her thoughts were broken into by Aqualad's voice though, face draining at his comment: "Robin is already tracking your partner; they will be apprehended soon and either you or they will speak."

Stupid stupid! She should have taken out the leader first, so they couldn't regroup or order the damned sidekick to possibly find _him._ If Robin found him, then the boy would definitely die a terrible death, not the swift one she was planning to give him.

Her handler wasn't known to be a nice guy.

She ignored the light glare from the Atlantean and the way his body crouched down to her level. She concentrated instead how his ice blue eyes searched her face with a sternness that promised consequence if she didn't answer and she wanted to laugh at it. No matter what they did to her, she was far beyond trained for it. He might think that she was shivering and quaking underneath his look, but no. She was shivering and quaking for his teammate.

"You need to let me out," she said solemnly, averting her eyes with a deep frown.

"And why, may I inquire, would I listen to you?" Aqualad asked coolly. She didn't need to look up to see his face morphed into one of disbelief. Apparently her side wasn't prone to asking for what they wanted, not that it surprised her in the least.

"Your teammate," she opened with, obviously getting the teen leader's attention, "he won't win against mine. Mine is cruel with the strength and skill to back it up." She paused, allowing the info to sink in before adding, "If you don't let me stop him, you won't see your little birdy again."

Obviously, if he let her go she wasn't planning on letting them see their teammate again either, but that was her prerogative. Besides, the young justice didn't heed the warning, instead scoffing with a confidence only someone who hadn't faced a stronger opponent by themselves with such sincere fear could have. But her handler was the master of fear.

"I trust Robin's skill. You will find him more than capable."

But no, he wasn't. And no, she wouldn't lay here with the knowledge that more suffering would be on her hands. She grinded her teeth in annoyed exasperation. They didn't know what she knew.

She was shimmying her shoulders in an attempt to escape Miss Martian's binding, but they held fast to her as if she were tied with rope. Her eyes brightened. With a long intake of air and a violent jerk, she dislocated her shoulder and quickly wormed out of the invisible bindings Miss Martian had tied her in.

Hastily, before Aqualad could attack her again, she dove at his feet, knocking him to the ground, and scrambled up to run. Jumping atop a dumpster and taking a few steps up the building wall, she latched onto the fire escape railing. With the barest of glances behind her, she shattered the window in front of her and leapt into the building, scampering off.

She'd come back for them later.

_B_R_E_A_K_

Now that Robin thought about it, while he was the better choice to send out in the case of fighting and experience, Kal should have sent Superboy or something. Someone who could better track a person in the deserted city around him, even if it was his home turf. There were truly too many areas in the Narrows that a shifty character could be hiding; he knew, he already found a couple.

Heat vision like the Kryptonian's definitely would have sped things up.

But with one of their team already out—his eyes narrowed at the memory of Wally on the ground, bleeding, but trusted the guy's thick skull to keep him safe—they couldn't afford to separate much. Besides, unless he was with Batman, he worked better alone.

A glint of gold flashed in his peripheries for barely a second, but his eyes honed in to the movement. It was the first possible sign of another adversary since he had left the group five minutes ago, and he was losing his patience. He was the supposed ninja, according to Wally, and should have been able to track down most of the villains out there with ease. After all, subtlety wasn't really their art. However, said tracking and defeating was proving to be more difficult than he thought.

He turned towards the sliver of light and entered the room as quietly as he could through the window, leaving the rooftops. As he made to sneak towards a door hanging open on barely solid hinges, Aqualad's voice burst into his mind, searing the words into his brain: _"Robin, they're heading towards you!"_

Then there was a slight whistle, one that could have been a light breeze passing by an open window.

In a show of his famed acrobatics, Robin sprung back onto his hands and twisted in the air, throwing a couple birdarangs towards where he was previously standing. The figure who had descended upon his position swatted them down and useless with their arm, the weapons landing in a worn out sofa to the side. Robin flinched when he heard no clang of metal upon contact to the limb, just the squelching of cut flesh.

"I can't allow you to go any further, Robin," said the figure in an apathetic voice. It was decidedly female, he deduced, and pretty rough as well, almost grating. How old was she?

"I don't suppose you'd let me through if I asked?" he said cheekily, fingering some smoke bombs at his belt. His smile was wide and toothy, prepared for some fun. Maybe he could finish this up before the others got there.

"If you did…" the voice came again, figure lowering into what he knew as a fighting stance. So, a close range fighter. He could deal with that. "If you did, I would have to say you were delusional."

She sprung towards him, a roundhouse kick towards his head, but he was quicker. Slamming a smoke bomb to the ground, he leapt up into the smoke and laughed, the sound echoing in the apartment. Robin watched as her shadow tensed in the smoke, but remained still.

"Delusional? Are you sure you don't mean lusional? Why can't I be lusional?" he joked mischievously, flinging more birdarangs at his enemy. Suddenly, her head turned towards his position and after quickly dodging his projectiles, she charged over to the room's corner with the intent of punching him. Only, he wasn't there. Instead, three beeping birdarangs sat snuggly in the wall.

She didn't have much of a chance to jump away before the explosion hit in a blast of hellfire and debris the apartment partially gone with the detonation.

Robin strode carefully out from the closet a couple feet over from where his recording played, a frown set on his face. It was the first time he truly saw who he was fighting, as the dark and smoke and speed of battle had distracted him otherwise, and the boy didn't really feel comfortable with what he had seen.

She appeared to be young, maybe even his age, though she was at least two inches taller. And while he knew it would come off hypocritically as he had been in the business since he was nine, Robin had trouble stomaching the idea that the villains had gotten their hands on someone so young.

A flash of a something dark in the smolder was his warning when the girl burst out, skintight black shirt singed and cargo pants torn to shreds. Instead of wearing a mask, everywhere from her cheeks up appeared to be darkened with black face, highlighting light grey eyes and pale skin. A long mane of wavy blonde hair trailed behind her and twisted in the momentum, only held back by a pseudo-helmet-headband that ran down to her jawline, baring her entire face. In fact, said face was scrunched in pain and what he thought appeared to be remorse, but that couldn't be right.

When she launched her punch, Robin grasped her shoulders to tumble over her and flank her, but instead was met with a dirtied shoe to the chin and he flew back and into a table, the wood cracking under the force. Robin watched warily as she completed her handspring, the punch only being a decoy.

So she knew some of his moves. Aww man, Batman was sure to kill him if he ever found out that they had figured out his moves. Robin pouted for a moment before a wide grin split his face. Well, if anything, this was sure to be interesting.

"Who are you? You're not too bad," Robin chuckled amicably, rubbing at a sore neck and doing a light stretch. He watched as the girl flinched back, shaken by his words for a moment. He watched the conflict flicker in her steel eyes. His own thoughts raced at her body language.

"I," she began, voice trembling for a moment, then it turned ice cold, "I have to end this here." Her entire body went on lockdown and Robin sighed. Well, he couldn't truly be upset, she was pretty fun to fight after all.

Regaining his bearings, Robin's cape fluttered behind him as he began his assault, twisting and jumping around several punches and kicks and elbows, landing a couple of blows on the stoic girl and flipping or twisting out of the way of hers. Little by little, the girl's brows lowered and lowered until nothing separated her eye brows other than an annoyed wrinkle. Robin almost snickered when she bit her lip, telegraphing a heel kick as a result. He did laugh when her boot flew past his nose.

The sudden sharpness of her gaze with an equally sharp smile should have given warning, yet Robin was completely caught off guard when her other leg soared through the air and smashed him in the pelvis.

The girl's grey eyes brightened in achievement, and for a moment while Robin was skidding backwards from the blow, he could have sworn she wanted to say something, cheer for her victory. But then her face hardened once again.

He blinked once, twice, and then Robin giggled, the sound bouncing against the walls of their battleground, and he could see the confusion in his opponent's eyes, even as her mouth turned down in a frown. The cheeky smile alit on his face spread wider, continuing when there was a furious red flush travelling up the girl's neck.

"This is fun," Robin chirped happily, whipping a foot to her face. And Robin wasn't lying. It _was _fun, though he also thought jumping across rooftops and beating up crazed clowns and aliens was fun.

The girl's eyes flashed as she grappled his leg mid-kick and pulled him off balance and towards her ready fist.

"I'm not here for fun," she spat out, her voice deep and growling, and Robin thought she looked pained. Smirking at her distraction, Robin twirled in her grip and kicked off her chest. As she stumbled back, he threw another two exploding birdarangs at her for good measure, destroying more of the building in the process.

Batman would definitely have his head for that, too. Lack of subtly would be a ten point deduction. Honestly though, at the moment Robin couldn't find it in himself to care all that much.

_"Robin, approaching your position. Keep her distracted and we will neutralize her as a team."_

Pouting, Robin nodded despite Aqualad being unable to see the gesture, but the boy was sure his teammate knew of his acquiescence. It was just how telepathy worked. So instead of slipping into another cranny unseen for another round of guerilla tactics, Robin stayed where he was, prepared to continue to play.

He got his wish when the blonde zipped from the cloud of debris and threw another punch at his face, instead just scraping by his ear. Her eyes were narrowed, but shining with life and determination and excitement.

When, to Robin's surprise, the arm that threw the missed punch wrapped around his neck in a tight hold, he swore he saw an upward lilt of her lips. He stumbled in pain against her knee, releasing a light grunt, before flipping away to build distance. Recovering into his stance, Robin's eyes widened when he realized: she _was _smiling!

He sent the girl a wide grin of his own and rolled away just as a torrent of electrified water encased her body.

With a yelp and a brief struggle, her eyes flickered to Robin, her mouth open in silent accusation. She looked betrayed, Robin grasped, as her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she fell limp. Her drenched body was carefully laid down on the ground by Aqualad, who had been standing behind her back with tattoos glowing. The water flowed back to him.

Robin opened his mouth to say something before snapping it shut in a guilty frown.

"Who is she, Robin?"

"Huh?" he answered intelligently. The masked boy wonder turned to his teammates, all of whom sent their searching gazes onto their enemy. Now that he looked closer, he could see the roots of her hair were an angry, vivacious red. Weird fashion choice, he supposed, but then again he was the one wearing a spandex suit.

"Honestly, I don't know," he replied, glancing back over to his friends. His frown deepened just a second before it transmuted in a bright smile when landing upon something canary yellow. "How was the nap, KF?" The boy wonder snickered at his best friend's comical look of betrayal, stumbling over his words instead of his feet for once.

Robin snickered again.

"I… I was caught off guard, Rob!" he wailed, looking towards Megan and Kaldur for backup. Only, the two heroes were both smiling mischievously, laughter in their eyes. Kid Flash's mouth dropped open in disbelief, turning to his last resort. "Superboy?"

Snorting, said boy had to fight to keep the smile off his face. He lost that battle when he saw Kid's face after saying in an attempt to appear nonchalant, "She must have hit you really hard to get through that skull of yours."

And then they were all laughing at Kid Flash's betrayed face, pouting and falling to his knees dramatically.

"Believe me, she hits hard," Robin quipped, rubbing his stomach with a flash of mischief in eyes.

Swiping a glance at the one who knocked him out, he took a double take. "Uh guys, isn't she kind of young to be in cahoots with villainous tyrants trying to take over the world?"

The laughing stopped and the rest of the Team's gaze followed his. The girl looked almost peaceful, if not for the occasional twitch of her muscles flowing with a jolt. Her face hadn't complete lost all its baby fat, leaving her with an almost cherubic visage if not for the dark red lipstick and darkly lined eyes. Robin remembered his thoughts during their altercation, thinking the same thing. She had to be around his age.

"We're young," murmured Kaldur, looking at Robin for a moment. Said boy frowned at the implication, but he knew it to be true. Instead of getting annoyed by the jab at his age, Robin decided to check out the girl they had caught for anything that might give him info.

"But we're heroes!" Kid said proudly, back on his feet and splaying his hands out towards all of the Team. Robin rolled his eyes at his friend's ignorance. For a genius, he could really overlook the stupidest things.

Apparently Superboy agreed with him, scoffing to counter, "And she's a villain." If it could go one way it could go both ways. The Superman clone bared his arm as if to prove his point. There were two deep gashes with blood freely flowing out of it. Megan hastily descended on the injury with a bunch of bandages.

Robin grimaced as he pushed the girl onto her back carefully. She had no identification on her outfit, which really didn't match most of the flair villains and heroes had in almost every case. She just wore a black long-sleeved shirt and cargo pants. The girl didn't even have a utility belt, a must have for someone who didn't have powers like him, but she had one empty dagger sheath on each hip. He even did a quick pat down to be thorough, but all her pant pockets were empty despite there being a multitude of them. He couldn't find any hidden compartments either.

It made him question, was she really the protégé of some evildoer? They knew better than to just send an operative without gear or powers. Surely they didn't underestimate their Team _that_ much.

And that look she gave him before passing out. She had appeared as if she were accusing him of betraying her, yet she had attempted to murder his team.

Scowling and annoyed, Robin felt behind the unconscious girl's head to unlatch her headband, taking it off and throwing it behind him. He wiped his sleeve across the girl's face in an attempt to clear away the black face, but only mascara came away. The darkness still clung to her as if it were her skin. Whatever was painted on apparently stayed on well.

Vaguely he heard Wally yell out, "Cool, souvenir!"

Nothing was extremely special of telling on her face either.

"Well, what do we do with her now?" It was the first time Megan spoke up since arriving, catching Robin's attention. Glancing at Kaldur who was looking back at him, the black haired kid shrugged, standing up.

With another glimpse at the girl on the floor, Robin said, "Take her back to the cave I guess."

Kaldur nodded his assent, making it official. Looks like they were going to have a guest for a while.

"You know, she's kind of cute. Too bad she's with the baddies…" Wally rambled with his hands behind his neck. Flashing a peep at a chuckling Megan, he quickly amended, "Not that she has anything on you, gorgeous!"

Robin smiled at his best friend's antics, stepping away so someone else could pick the blonde girl up. However, as soon as he took his third step, a blinding flash tore at their retinas and a loud ringing replaced all other sense. The team collapsed to the ground, holding their heads in pain. Superboy roared.

Robin supposed it sucked sometimes to have super hearing and for the first time in a while he was glad to be a human with no powers.

Flinging his eyes open, Robin fought against the brightness to stand next to where the girl had laid not two seconds ago, but Kal was already there, staring at an empty floor.

As the effects of the flash bang wore off, Robin mumbled, "Well Aqualad, you were right about the partner thing."

_B_R_E_A_K_

Gasping, she came to with a nose full of smelling salts and a face full of dirty floorboards. Pushing away the gloved hand hovering, the girl could only be thankful the man hadn't thrown her into the harbor or something; it seemed a lot more likely.

"You lost."

She put all her will into holding back a flinch. Instead she clenched her teeth, idly noting the pain still nesting in her jaw. Pain that would be a bug bite compared to what he would do to her if she didn't play this carefully.

Maybe he hadn't flung her into the harbor simply because he had something worse for her after she vomited out worthless excuses. He could be sadistic like that.

"There were six of them," she stated blandly, struggling to get out from under her handler. Really, there was only just one that she could think about, though the girl hastily shoved the thoughts away. She felt too exposed, vulnerable, like her handler were know her every thought. His heavy hand held her shoulder to the floor with iron strength. She wasn't going anywhere until he was done, and his gaze told her that he still expected more. "Not only that, but they had a way a way communicating without words."

She paused, waiting for him to react. Surprise, shock, anything. But he didn't budge; he only stared nonchalantly into her defiant eyes.

"Either they worked out a code or the Martian girl has developed telepathy like her uncle," she iterated, wishing the man would just let go of her. He was crushing her clavicle with the pressure.

"The Martian has powers of telepathy, yes," he supplied and her face grew red with anger in seconds. She punched him, or at least attempted to. It was getting a little hard for her to breath with his death grip.

"You bastard," she seethed, vibrant red hair growing again from her skull. She ignored the pricking pain and the throbbing in her temples as her eyes watered. Hastily she blinked out the tears in an attempt to prove to the man they weren't tears shed crying, but rather of anger. The girl supposed the angry red irises that resulted would get the message across.

He had sent her into this skirmish so that she would lose! He hadn't expected her to succeed in the first place; how could she when she was outnumbered five-to-one and they could read each other's minds? That filthy ass was probably sitting there, watching her struggle, and chalking it up as a training exercise.

Well getting _slashed_ in the _back_ and breaking her _jaw_ wasn't a training exercise!

And they still had a damned package to deliver!

"You should have assumed her powers matched those of her kin, maybe even more" was all he said in excuse, but she felt that didn't cut it. He definitely held it from her on purpose.

She knew in the back of her mind that he was sporting a crazed grin at her spitting. She must seem like an angry kitten to him, scratching and clawing but completely at his mercy. Probably turned him on in some fucked up way.

If he was smiling or feeling any of those things, it didn't translate into his tone when he ordered, "Report."

Still sneering at him, but giving up the struggle in favor of possibly saving her shoulder, she jeered, "I didn't see much of Kid Flash, but Aqualad and Robin pretty much matched our data, though the former appears to be the leader instead of the boy wonder." A pause and her anger melted into the background as consternation took over.

Fighting the little birdie had been… different. He made it easy to forget that she was supposed to kill him and pretty much convinced her to enjoy the blows, the adrenaline, the exhilaration of just moving and fighting. It was almost as if he was having fun and she was almost having fun with him. For a moment.

She shook her head of the thoughts and frowned, her mentor's gaze still hewing into her.

"Superman's clone… he doesn't appear to have the man's full strength and abilities," she continued slightly more subdued. With a snort she adds, "Though he does have some major anger. Maybe Cadmus messed up with the genetics? I could check out his DNA sequencing if you'd-"

"Why didn't you kill him." With this man it was always less of a question and more of an order or demand, something she personally hated, but that annoyance didn't stop her from freezing like a deer in headlights. Normally she would have yelled at whoever kept cutting her off, especially with the shit he pulled earlier, but her pride was a lot less important than her survival and with him yelling was a surefire way to get punished.

Yelling consisted of insubordination which only led to them having to bleed it out.

"We went _over_ this already," she growled out, a soft hum of anger broiling in the back of her throat to mask her nerves. The man's grip loosened for just a second, the only sign of amusement he let through. Probably laughing at her attempt to come off as intimidating. She knew better than anyone she was at his mercy at any time. She also knew that she was the one who asked for that position. "There was no way I was gonna be able to kill any of them. I was outnumbered and most likely outclassed, I didn't even have any gear, let alone a _warning_!"

She knew her handler liked her fierceness and her biting tone. He liked how she fought back as if she had morals to abide to and as if she had a conscience unlike the rest of them. She was quick to retort and even quicker to anger, but that was something he nurtured almost, and she knew there was that slight sliver of fondness. However, she also knew how he liked to see her squirm and hated to be disobeyed.

She could tell none of that demented fondness was in his voice at his next words.

"I meant Kid Flash. You had the element of surprise and had him at your mercy from the beginning. Why didn't you kill him."

She stayed silent. She knew why she hadn't killed him; she had faltered. But telling that to him? Signing her death certificate.

"I ordered their deaths, yet you didn't follow it through," he iterated. When there was no answer, he sighed a gruff and sharp sigh before lecturing her a condescending voice, as if she were a child, "If you had killed one of them early on, their moral would have been ruined and their dynamics would fall through. They would be distracted and it would have been easier to take them apart."

It didn't matter that she wasn't meant to succeed. Orders were orders and defeat should have been a death.

She averted her eyes, finding the dusty floor extremely interesting. She just noticed that they were in another abandoned apartment, though a scruffy in the blanket told of a recent squatter. The needles told of a druggie. That was all it took for her to realize she was most likely still in the Narrows. It never took her long to wake up to the aches and pains.

Upon detecting that she was dodging his gaze, the man leaned more weight into her. The girl hissed as the shoulder she had previously dislocated and pushed back in to escape once again popped out of its socket.

"Understand?" He asked the question now in a sick version of giving her a choice, but she knew there really wasn't a choice at all. The second she agreed to be taken in and trained, that choice was ripped from her: obey. Simple as that.

She nodded hastily when she felt as if her bone was going to shatter. Only then did he get off her, laughing as she scrambled backwards. Her eyes narrowed into angry slits that eyed him warily as he approached.

As she roughly jammed the ball of arm back into its socket, he began to speak.

"Package was delivered successfully, the mission is finished," he uttered smugly, heavy combat boots thudding into the wooden floor. "We're to report back to Ra's al Gul tonight, so let's get going." His heavy glance passed over her face.

"Have a question, Stranger?"

He must have noticed the confusion sitting heavily upon her face, the way it scrunched in between her brows and nibbled on her lip. The girl hastily rectified this and her face went blank. She gave too much to this man and to his superiors. She had to protect as much of herself that she had left.

Seeing the transformation, the man smiled. Or at least she assumed so, his mask always blocked his entire face, leaving only a hole for one eye. Sportsman once told her that his wife shot it out of his head. Well, ex-wife now, she'd assumed. Kobra laughed at the story and said that his eye had been taken by none other than Batman, mortal flesh unable to withstand the assault and all.

But Kobra was bat-shit crazy and Sportsman simply untrustworthy to the nth degree.

She never had the guts to ask him what had actually happened, and he never offered it up to her. But just like she kept her questions to herself then, she kept her question about the mysterious package and to whom it was delivered to herself. Sometimes it was just better not to know.

"No questions here, Deathstroke," she murmured.

She knew he smirked by the crinkling of his one visible eye, and as he passed Deathstroke ruffled her long and messy hair in twisted affection. He knew that she hated to be touched by him.

"Good, now let's go Stranger. There's always more work to be done."

She growled low in her throat, but the man just chuckled at her before leaving through the window she guessed he broke on his way in. When he was out of sight, she paused just a moment, relishing in the loneliness that meant freedom. It was only then she realized her headband was gone, though the sadness quickly dissipated.

"I'm not Stranger," she rumbled to herself, before following him out into the streets.

Best not keep the beast waiting.

**Thank you for reading! Koby out.**


	2. Who She Is

**Second Chapter, hopefully will put more into perspective why "Stranger" is who she is... and her mentality. She's a little psychologically confused, to put in nicely, at the moment. Also a little more about her powers. I personally think that super powers should take a little more sacrafice to use, so I'm adding that in with her. Like I said, dark themes. Thank you everyone for reading and enjoying :) Thanks to all who followed and reviewed; you're great 3**

Chapter Two: Who She Is

The name officially given to her was Carter Collins, not that anyone called her that anymore unless she was in class. It was too hard to keep down one person, one name, one identity in front of everyone with her specialties and in her line of work. One simply picks up multiples of each, throwing away useless ones and taking in new ones like strays.

It just so happened that Stranger was one such identity, one such name, and one such person that she had become in her long thirteen years of life. It also just so happened that she hated her.

The world was her job and the people her clients; those who paid received her services no matter the endgame. That's how life was after Deathstroke saved her from the streets and named her Stranger. Of course, it was an apt name if not a little too close to home for her tastes. And honestly, 'save' was a loose term in that sense, but it was save all the same. Growing up in Bludhaven, the only slimier and darker city than Gotham in the states, the girl had learned to take refuge where it was offered and put survival as priority.

She knew she sold her loyalty to the devil, but she knew exactly what she was getting into when she had signed up for it. He warned her about who he was and his methods and the pain she would have to go through to become satisfactory, but how could she say no?

If it meant going to work for a killer lunatic to get off those streets to somewhere she didn't have to fear for her life constantly, so be it. If it meant going through all sorts of Hells to finally become strong, powerful, and able to handle herself, then she'd do it.

It had taken her almost two years, but with the training she received during that time, Carter could finally walk through the streets of her home without fear. She was no longer prey, but rather a predator, and Bludhaven's only rule was that the predators make the rules.

And despite all its shortcomings, Bludhaven was her city no matter who she was. She grew up on these streets and laughed on these streets and suffered on these streets. Most importantly, she knew what these streets did to people.

There weren't any heroes this far south of Gotham and villains never bothered with the shithole Bludhaven was; their job was maintained perfectly by the inhabitants.

Theft, gangs, murders, rape, and corrupt police festered in Bludhaven, thriving and expanding despite the city itself being stuck in an economic depression since the ports had been cut off for "private" use. The place was an actual concrete jungle where just about everyone survived through less than satisfying means. All the honest people there only remained because they were tied down to the place through debts, family, relationships, or because they simply couldn't escape.

And that's where she figured she fit in. She was strong now, higher up in the pecking order and no longer a weak and terrified victim. Deathstroke had given her this strength just as he gave her free reign of her time off the clock as long as she trained regularly. What better way to train than taking out the garbage in her backyard?

That's the mindset Carter Collins had every night when she stepped out the door as a new person. Today, she decided on something edgy, actually taking the time to dye her hair a bright violet instead of transforming it, saving her the grief of shaving it all off. As she washed out her eyes with saline, traces of red and pink goo draining down the sink, she blinked open to stare back at irises of the darkest brown she could muster: borderline black.

Despite how uncomfortable that always was, it was honestly the skin that disgusted her the most. It disgusted her even more than when she had to puke up the debris of mutilated vocal cords to change her voice, and that wasn't something anyone would enjoy. Carter could simply never get over that little part of her that deemed it so…_ wrong_, but it never really stopped her. That's why, just like every other day, she found herself peeling off the pale sheet of skin from her body again and again until she obtained a nice mocha glow. The silvery sheer crumpled into dust at her feet before she daintily stepped off the trash bag she had been standing in.

Her body tingled for a moment, but as she stared into the eyes of another one of her foreigners, Carter couldn't help but smile. She barely had to focus on it anymore, her body simply followed her mind's eye.

Huh, she pondered idly. Her teeth shone quite white against such dark skin, maybe she should try darker more often.

Shrugging off the last vestiges of film on her stomach and shoulders, Carter padded her way to the dresser and got dressed, donning a simple black shirt and cargo pants. Slipping on a pair of lightweight black shoes, she left her apartment a new person. She wasn't Carter Collins. Today she would be… Cassandra.

She swathed a deep plum onto her lips.

Yeah, Cassandra. She liked the sound of that. It sounded way better than Stranger.

_B_R_E_A_K_

August 27, 2010

Omega Base

07:32

"Where is Slade?" Stranger asked, walking through the door with confusion littering her face. Instead of the bicolored mask of the hulking mercenary, a large man with an old-styled hockey mask made out of metal occupied her training room. As he swung, his muscles visibly rippled with the movement, putting Stranger on edge. Another man, a huge man, to take care of her. Deathstroke knew she would hate it.

"Busy," he answered. Another swing, deep purple leather vest hugging his chest as he went through the motions. Stranger jumpily realized that Sportsmaster had taken off his arm's metal armor in favor of a light warm-up.

The blonde girl frowned and with practiced ease untensed her shoulders. If he did anything to her, Deathstroke would maim him.

"So you're on babysitting duty?" she asked incredulously, stomping to the lockers at the room's perimeter with a huff. Purposefully dropping her bag there with a loud clank. She didn't need a damn babysitter, she would have been fine on her own. In fact, she would much rather be alone instead of with another man.

Crossing her arms in anger, though it came off more as immaturity, Stranger glared at the man who continued to go through the motions of his perfect swing. Once, twice, a third time and he ignored her. If he wasn't going to say or do anything, why was he even here?

Omega base was gloomy enough without awkward silence. Called a base, the hideout was more likely aligned to be a glorified training ring with lockers, weights, some food and drink, and a concrete circle in the middle that was rattled with scars of sparring. It was where her handler took Stranger to train almost every morning of the week and that was all it was used for.

Rock walls climbed higher and higher with a small circle at the top to let the light in. There were no other forms of lighting, so as to better "acclimate her to fighting in the real world." Stranger's scowl deepened even further.

"Deathstroke had a client request a quickie, so he left you with us," a sly voice purred suggestively. Appearing from the shadows, the assassin known as Cheshire slunk towards her. Another mask, Stranger thought annoyed. The girl's short green kimono swayed with her hips and brushed indecently high on her thighs as the assassin barely spared Sportsman a glance.

"He must've been desperate. He hates you guys," Stranger bit out, turning around to fumble through her bag. This one Stranger hated just because she was annoying.

She supposed it was a self-training day, which was fine with her. She'd rather not talk to these people anyway. All she wanted was some alone time going through her stances and punches so she could forget about that damned laugh haunting her dreams and invading her mind. It was getting _creepy_ damnit, but it just wouldn't let her go.

A cold bite of steel briefly nipped at her neck, and the echo of a clank reverberated through the circular room. The high ceilings surely aided in the sounds propagation. Stranger didn't need to raise a hand to her neck to know that she was bleeding, the knife lodged into her locker just in front of her told her enough.

"Hate is such a… strong word," Cheshire cooed, a lilt of ire in her tone.

Uncoiling her muscles and forcing her body to continue searching through her stuff as nonchalant as possible, the young blonde snorts in disdain.

"So is bitch, but I don't mind saying it to you."

This time, when the throwing knife whistled through the air, Stranger deflected it with one of her own knives. Her lips, blood red in Stranger's signature makeup, curled down in a sneer. To be honest, Cheshire's mask always creeped her out, and with the glinting of angry eyes behind the mask's holes, the teenage assassin only looked more lethal.

"Such foul language, didn't your parents teach you any manners?" Cheshire snarled in harsh laughter.

Red sprouted on Stranger's head as her hair grew in fury. She would rip that stupid cat's head off.

"If I knew you two would be fighting like brats, I would've paid Deathstroke to go on the mission myself," Sportsmaster grumbled, placing his golf club to the side. He slicked back his blonde hair, shining with sweat, and stalked over with the grace only a superb athlete could possess.

"What's the mission?" Stranger rumbled quietly, twirling her dagger in her hand at the ready. No way was she going to drop her guard with Cheshire glaring laser beams at her.

The man's eyes slid over to the on edge girl before stating, his voice muffled by the mask, "He's exterminating an issue in Gotham City."

Stranger froze and an odd fear settled in her stomach. Why she was afraid, she wasn't completely sure, but it was that fear that made her prod into what she would never usually prod into: "What's the issue?" She tried to make it come out as nonchalant, but she couldn't tell if she had succeeded. Especially when Sportsman levelled her with a curious glance.

"Some scientist. Why?"

Stranger relaxed and sighed out, "Just curious, that's all." It was too late to take back her words when Sportsmaster's eyes narrowed, and she cursed herself. Stranger was never curious, how could she say she was curious?

Stranger was worrying her lip when Cheshire chuckled, suddenly out of battle mode and back into the sly and menacingly teasing girl she always was. It brought Sportsman out of his suspicions and Stranger out of her thoughts. "No one else really wanted it. It would be too boring without the old Bat on the case," she sang, stifling a small giggle. The green-clad female was now standing in the middle of the room, waiting.

Maybe it wasn't a self-training day after all.

Stranger's ears perked at that. "Batman? Why wouldn't he be on alert within his own city?"

She didn't know much about actual bats, but Batman the superhero was always known to be particularly protective, especially of two things: his sidekick and his city. She really couldn't imagine a reason as to why the caped crusader wouldn't be kicking Deathstroke's butt for causing mayhem in his streets.

What about Robin?

But Stranger refused to dwell on the thought.

The blonde pulled back her hair in a low ponytail before taking out a squeaky clean new headband. She got it last night to replace the one the League had taken, so this one wasn't as scuffed and dirty. Luckily, it didn't smell of stale sweat either. Wrapping the black leather around her head, she laced it in the back down to the nape of her neck. Fiddling a little with the foreign stiffness, Stranger finally pulled out her ponytail and fluffed her hair.

The blonde rolled her shoulders and kicked her bag back towards the wall. Then she joined Cheshire in the middle of the ring.

"Oh, he's swamped with official League business, what with Clayface keeping him busy," the assassin stated, cracking her neck. With the sound, she was off, flinging kicks and kicks in a furious staccato that Stranger had issues keeping up with, unable to trade blow for blow. The blonde quickly found herself taking more hits than she could give out.

With an attempt to slip into Cheshire's guard like she had with Superboy yesterday morning, she asked as casually as she could while panting and groaning in pain, "Clayface? I've never heard of him before, when did they pick him up?"

Stranger grunted when Cheshire practically slapped her away before introducing her head with a vicious roundhouse kick. She rolled across the ground, all awkward and bumping around, before skidding to a stop at Sportsmaster's feet. She stumbled up to standing, hastily putting space between her and him, before charging back in with a growl.

"He's Matthew Hagen, or what's left of him. He used to be part of the Shadows," the only male stated, bored. If Stranger hadn't been focusing so much on jumping to dodge a low kick then blocking to reduce the damage from a speedy elbow, she would have said that the man sounded almost tired.

With a dramatic sigh, Cheshire back stepped out of the way of a backhand towards her temple and whined, "Talia couldn't deal with the rejection and locked him in the pit. Poor bastard, he was such a cutie, too." Stranger scowled at the complete shrugging off of her attack.

She didn't know who Talia was and she honestly didn't want to know, either. All she wanted was to punch the smug cat in the face. Err, mask.

On her turn to retaliate, Cheshire used the same move to cuff Stranger right on the ear, disorienting the young girl for a moment. She fought it, but the blonde slid to her knees and was rewarded with a heel to her gut. Cheshire caught her by the throat before she could fly backwards.

Lifting her up, fingers clenching around her pale neck, Cheshire's eyes narrowed behind her mask. "Where'd you get that, kitten? I didn't scratch you there," she hissed.

Stranger's pale eyes followed her opponent's gaze even as her head grew lightheaded and hot. On her shoulder, happily crusting over on her deltoid, was a thin cut deep into her muscle. With a grunt, the girl pushed herself out of Cheshire's grip by kicking off her chest and flipping into a crouch.

"None of your business," Stranger coughed out, rubbing at the forming bruises on her neck. She wondered how Deathstroke would take them: a battle trophy fitting an intense spar or an attack on his little helper? "Just a bit of training."

Then she charged in again with a flurry of punches that Cheshire evaded. The masked woman laughed at her endeavors, a deep throaty laugh that almost sent a chill down Stranger's spine. The next bruise she earned, right on the hip, had Cheshire laughing again in glee.

It was weird, Stranger realized as she bit down on the frustrated scream scratching at her throat. She was battling just as she had the other day, and Cheshire was laughing, but this fight was nowhere near fun. It wasn't fun or enjoyable as the spat with the boy wonder had been. Right now, this was anger, it was survival, and for the first time in a long while that thought had left Stranger feeling oddly empty inside.

"Come on kitten, two years and this is all you got? Makes me wonder why Deathstroke would even bother with-"

Whether the crack was from her fingers or from the mask, Stranger didn't care. What mattered was Cheshire's ass hitting the ground before she could regroup and stand back at arms. The sight brought Stranger out of her thoughts and the blonde smirked jauntily, knowing her handler would be pleased with her achievement.

Next thing the youngest girl knew, Cheshire was guffawing and holding her gut in mirth. "Oh, she's got bite!"

Stranger would have been prouder if the words had been coming from someone less crazy and bloodthirsty. She would also be prouder if the pain in her hand wasn't announcing that it was indeed her hand that was broken. Sighing, the blonde turned towards her bag to wrap the limb.

"Hey Kitty, where ya going?" Cheshire called, pout in her voice apparent. She obviously wasn't happy that her glorified punching bag had decided to call it quits.

Scoffing, Stranger answered, "It's one thing to fight through pain. It's another to fight through a possibly debilitating injury for practice." Bandaging her hand without complaint, the girl continued, "I may be young, but I'm not dumb."

Really, for the first time in two years, Stranger just hadn't felt like training anymore.

With a shrug, Cheshire murmured, "Kitty just can't keep up."

It took a deep breath and a count to ten to not retort.

"Now that that's all out of your system," Sportsmaster jibed, approaching the small girl sitting on the floor. He jerked his head to the side and Stranger followed the silent order, muscles strained to a suspicious tautness. Deathstroke hated this man, yet trusted him all the same. It had confused her. Stranger didn't trust the adult for as far as she could throw him, and she was certain she wouldn't even be able to pick him up.

However, her handler had left them there for a reason: training. And training meant strength and strength meant survival. There was nothing she wouldn't give for survival.

Stranger followed him back to the center of the ring in confusion and anxiety as the huge blonde went to examine his golf club.

"I heard you had a little trouble with electricity, Stranger," were the nonchalant words spilling from his lips as he pulled out a small golfball. Placing it gently to the ground, the hulking man made eye contact. "We've been asked to… rectify that."

Stranger's grey eyes widened in shock and realization, muscles tensing to run, but a set of knives sand through the air and pinned her shoes to the ground, causing her to fall onto her back. Not dwelling on the pain in the broken hand she landed on, Stranger attempted to pluck the weapons from her shoes before another projectile flashed by, halting her.

Cheshire's disturbingly happy mask came out of the shadows from behind the man teeing up.

"I've always wondered how you did that with your face," she sang, motioning to her own head and drawing an invisible line from one cheekbone over the bridge of her nose to her other cheekbone in an imitation of Stranger's blackened skin. "I don't suppose you'll tell me? I'll try to convince him to-"

"Fuck you!" Stranger spat, struggling back up to her feet in order to stand proud. Of course, no matter what she felt like, training never ended. Just another exercise. Just more strength.

Deathstroke had promised her that he would teach her to survive anything and she told him she would take whatever he threw at her. This was just one of his lessons.

Stranger grinned in the face of the two before her, lifting her chin up.

Cheshire shrugged, melting back into the shadows as Sportsman raised the club and swung.

_B_R_E_A_K_

August 27, 2010

Bludhaven

23:06

Carter hummed darkly at the phantom traces of electricity in her veins. It only took until the third golf ball to learn how to numb her pain receptors and dull the pain and override the senses. She wouldn't be passing out because of Aqualad any time soon.

Sportsmaster had seemed surprised at her quick deflection of pain, soon leading to no signs of discomfort. Even Cheshire had commented on her quick learning with a sly grin. Deathstroke had always said she was a prodigy, one of the few things he praised her for before pushing her harder.

But she shouldn't be dwelling on that; that was Stranger's life, and she had shed her skin the second she returned back to her dusty apartment.

Not that she ever stayed there long.

The darkness soon swathed her within itself, only revealing the young girl's figure when she intervened in the city's chaos. She was two robberies and a mugging in when she noticed the woman threatening to shoot if his victim didn't give her what she wanted.

Not that the woman was able to make good on her threat. She was down and out cold on the ground within the next minute, her victim screaming as a shadow passed by. However, when the screaming stopped and when only trembling remained, the person scurried to pilfer their would-be killer before rushing off.

Running a hand through sleek black hair, the self-appointed part-time vigilante sighed, continuing on her trek through the city.

She stayed away from the corrupt cops taking bribes or threatening shop-owners. If she went after one of them, they would be on to her and be alerted of her activities. Perhaps they'd attempt to hunt her down, and her anonymity wasn't something she'd particularly like to part with. So she passed by the one in uniform smacking down a portly man with the side of his gun, knocking him out before waving a partner on into the store.

Such was the life one lived in Bludhaven, her home.

She stopped another petty theft, tying the boy's wrist to a railing before disappearing, a light-hearted giggle fumbling in her wake. Hastily, with a groan to herself, she immediately stopped the laughter realizing how creepy it was to be laughing in the middle of such things.

Even if it was kind of fun.

Now her skin was black as night, allowing her to disappear in the shadows except a stark white grin.

Maybe Cheshire wasn't as crazy as she initially thought, with the whole disappearing cat motif. Tonight, Carter thought Kitty was a good name. It kind of had a nice ring to it.

**edit: just approved the anon reviews and wow... you wrote a LOT. Honestly, it's hard for me to understand everything you put in there, since my knowledge of DC isn't necessarily great let alone good, and some of your comments went everywhere, but I get some of the stuff you are trying to say and I'll definitely think on it :) with a lot of relationships and characters I can't say I can relate because, once again, I don't know the most about the universe and therefore said characters, but a lot of points you said were very imteresting. I'll kep them in mind! Thank you**


	3. It Was Her City

**I want to make it clear to people now before they read this chapter, the names for Carter will be very confusing, as the use of the name is sort of an indication of how Carter is feeling about her identity in the moment and who she aligns said identity with at the moment (like when she's Stranger, she will be referred to as Stranger. When she's in "civvies" she'll be Carter, when she's out doing her self-appointed vigilantism she'll be referred to as that name she has given herself for that night; previous examples: Cassandra, Kitty. She is currently still Kitty and hence still looks like 'Kitty'). Hopefully this might make some of the beginning of the sense have a little more sense and a little less confusion…. Hopefully?**

**Also, fair warning, this chapter is pretty much completely dedicated to Carter and her life outside of all her hero/villain/mercenary related antics, so I'm sorry if that leaves you disappointed to not having YJ characters really in here. This will probably be the only one without YJ characters (or one of like two or three), so even if you dislike the pure Carter chapter there shouldn't be many. Just trying things out :)**

Chapter Three: It Was Her City

September 28, 2010

Bludhaven

0923

Summers in New Jersey were always hot, the state clinging onto the humid heat for as long as possible and well into the beginnings of fall. This year was no different, the warmth only intensifying with the proximity of buildings and bodies present in Bludhaven. The smog of the place never helped, blanketing it as if to trap the heat in and bake all the residents. Only the ocean nearby provided relief, with a breeze usually rolling in with the waves.

Needless to say, it was this type of sweltering weather that always made Carter regret her decision of cargo pants and long-sleeved shirts when she went out "crime-fighting." Granted, the stench of the slums she was currently walking through always hid any kind of body odor her sweat managed to coat her in, so she could only complain about feeling nasty instead of truly smelling nasty.

She ran a hand through her sweat soaked hair, cringing when it came back sticky. She was definitely feeling nasty all right. It only took a passing glance into a piece of broken glass still clinging to life in a window that, yes, she looked nasty, too.

Her ink black hair, which had started out long and silky sleek, was now mussed up and sticking awkwardly in several directions. Some tresses were cut from a previous fight with a knife-wielding idiot, so that the right side of her face was not only marred by scratches, but was also framed by unevenly cut hair considerably shorter than the rest of her locks. If she were Stranger right now, she'd definitely be getting another lesson in dodging and being careless in a fight, no matter the opponent, from Deathstroke.

When the adrenaline high from yesterday morning's lesson had worn off, Kitty had convinced herself that training a little longer in the darkened streets was a great idea, admirable even. If she were honest, she was simply seeking another flare of exhilaration while coming to blows with someone, however the feeling never stuck. A couple of robberies and assaults later and the fatigue hit her like a glorious sack of bricks. It weighed down on her arms and shoulders, pressing on her chest and causing her body to sag. Even if she were Carter at the moment, she was sure no one would recognized her through her haggardness.

Another shard of glass passed and she could see the purpling of bags under her eyes even with her dark skin. Kitty decided thoughtfully that she looked like a zombie. A sad, beaten down zombie who needed a good three months sleep.

Sighing, the thirteen year old glanced up at the sun finally surmounting the tall buildings around her, suddenly all too glad that Deathstroke was on that mission in Gotham and hadn't contacted her to report in again. No, she was going to hibernate like most kids her age during their summer vacations. Granted, there was a huge chasm between most kids and her, but who was she to be picky when sleep was calling her name so sweetly?

Yawning, the girl quietly padded across the street towards North Maple Avenue, where her own apartment resided, before a man stepped in front of her. Dark brown hair slicked back in a gaudy imitation of a twentieth century gangster, the man wore a burgundy V-neck short sleeved shirt, showing off a scar running across his chest. With his hands stuffed in the pockets of his dark slacks, the man smiled.

Kitty eyed the smile warily, immediately halting in her walk. She took note that he was almost a foot taller than her, eyes level with the scar peeking from his collar. Idly, she wondered whether the man's scruff was itching his chin and ears before quickly releasing the thought. Instead, she put all her concentration into sizing up the male looming over her.

Decent muscle build with a few small nicks here or there on the skin: probably had gotten into a couple fights before this, and was on the losing end, too. His fist was clenched in his pocket, most likely holding something. What was it? A gun? A knife? Kitty's black eyes trailed down to his shoes, which were scuffed and torn. So he ran a lot. From people or after people, she could probably hazard a guess.

Her eyes flashed when the sleazy smile grew even bigger.

"Like what you see, girl?" he rumbled, circling the girl like a vulture. Her shoulders tensed in anticipation, ears straining to hear the consistent footsteps of his feet scraping against the dirt. It was slightly uneven. Maybe the man had a slight limp from a recent injury or old. She could use that, worse came to worst.

He gave a light snort before muttering something she was sure wasn't necessarily a compliment under his breath.

A fire in her stomach roared up in slight offense. Surely she didn't look _that_ bad, Kitty assured herself, blank expression giving nothing away. Well, maybe she did look kind of bad, but that's why all she wanted was to change, take a shower, and _sleep_ to rectify that! Is that too much for a girl to ask?

"I guess you'll do," he chirped when completing his circle to land in front of her again.

Kitty's eyebrow rose carefully on her dark face. She'll do for just what, exactly, she almost asked, but she had a feeling she would find out soon enough. Her fingers twitched with the need to feel the worn leather handle of her knife.

"How about going back to my apartment, sweetie?" he asked in a disgustingly sugary voice and taking a step into her personal space. Kitty's eyes flared with unadulterated fury at his suggestive tone, her mouth pulling down into a sneer. So that's what he held in his pocket. Money.

The girl took a large step back, attempting to calm her voice when she growled, "I'm not interested." When Kitty tried stomping past the man, her held his arm out and caught her on the shoulder. This time, she really did growl in warning. If the man knew what was best for him, he'd stop touching her right then and there. Then again, no person in their right mind would be attempting to pick up an underage girl at nine in the morning, even if it was Bludhaven.

His grimy, perverted, bad intentioned hand squeezed her shoulder lightly almost as if reassuring her. She didn't want to think about what that hand had done up until this day, she knew what it had most likely done to other girls like her. Well, not like her, not anymore.

Kitty considered the man extremely lucky he still had the damn thing. He didn't know it, but he should.

"It's fine, I can make it worth your while," he continued suggestively, his thumb creating a trail of grime on her shirt where he rubbed it in slow circles. His second hand met her cheek briefly in a caress. The gesture was too familiar to her, too close. Buried nightmares swam to the surface of her mind, ripping apart the careful film of solace she had collected there.

Her own hand was already in her pocket, encircling the dagger she kept there as her breath picked up its pace to almost hysterical levels. Carter no longer saw the dingy row of unopened stores in front of her, but rather the echoes of a dark alley. Her body began to tremble, but the man must have taken it as nerves or some other demented fantasy of his because he forged on to say, "Don't worry, it won't hurt, honey."

Carter's fingers began to tingle as her breath escaped her mouth in short, harsh puffs. That dark alley, that blood soaking into the cracks in the concrete. Carter bit her lip down on a whimper. She bit her lip down harder on her weakness. That man's hand was still on her.

"And maybe after you can get someone to cut that hair of yours-"

Before Carter could throw up, because that was definitely where the knots in her stomach were leading her, a high voice sliced through the morning air: "Hey, what are you doing!"

Suddenly, the hand was gone, though the fuzziness in her mind lingered. The man and the other voice were talking now, Carter noted blankly.

"Do you want to join in or something? I have plenty of money." That was the man, slick voice burning her ears.

"Prostitution is illegal, you pedophile!" the high voice answered again. It was a girl, Carter realized, and a young one. "You better leave or I'll call the police over!" She sounded familiar…

There was a scratchy laugh, nervously chattering in the air, and suddenly it clicked.

She caressed the sharp blade in an attempt to ground her to her anger, slicing open the pad of her thumb in the process. The sweet sting brought her back from where her mind was thrown, and Kitty's eyes flashed with danger. Twirling around, Kitty turned just in time to see a young Hispanic girl standing bravely in front of the approaching stranger.

Kitty could see the girl attempt to hide her shaking behind an angry frown.

The man's arm lashed out violently, swinging like a whip toward the other girl's face, her eyes scrunched in preparation. But the blow never landed.

"Fuck off," Kitty scorned, grabbing the man's arm and twisting it painfully behind his back. She squeezed the man's wrist when he tried to fight her grip, kicking at his weak leg to knock him to his knees. It didn't take long for a crack to jolt through the air, quickly followed by the man howling in pain.

"Are you ready to leave yet?" Kitty asked viciously, and she waited until the man nodded before releasing him.

He ran off and never looked back at the two girls.

"Thank you so much!" the Hispanic girl cried. Kitty slid her eyes over to her, noticing the usual crooked smile and the light dusting of freckles only on her right cheek. "Here I thought I was saving you, but…"

Kitty blinked lethargically, not opening her mouth to answer the girl whose kinked grin pinched upwards so her eyes curved into tiny crescents. Within the smile was a missing tooth that Kitty knew she had gotten from falling flat on her face while running away from…

Kitty shivered and pushed the thoughts down.

The disguised girl began to walk away without answering, this time hoping to actually make it back to her apartment and sleep off not only fatigue but the memories threatening to erupt from her mind. Where had this weakness come from? She was supposed to be strong now. She was supposed to be able to handle herself.

"Are you," the girl Kitty saved began again, completely missing the urgency with which the black haired vigilante was leaving. The only reason Kitty paused was because of the breathless tenor added to the words. "Are you one of _them_?"

Kitty's shoulder's tensed almost painfully. There was no way anyone could trace her back to Deathstroke and Stranger, and the only reason they could possibly be affiliated with the rest of the villains was because the man took a couple jobs from them in the past and took her along.

Instead of answering, however, Kitty brushed off the words. "You shouldn't walk around here alone," she muttered before walking off stiffly. But of course, like most times, she was ignored.

"My name is Catalina. Catalina Marie Flores! What's your name?"

Kitty hurried away, pretending not to hear the words calling after her.

_B_R_E_A_K_

The second she had crawled through the window of her apartment, she shed all she could of Kitty's existence. Her hair was shaved off, skin peeled, and irises rinsed down the sink in a painful cacophony of returning to the one identity she could never get rid of, not matter how hard she tried: Carter Collins.

Hastily throwing the black plastic bag in with the others by the bathroom door, Carter grabbed the scissors on a stray drawer before walking naked to the bathroom mirror.

"It's been a while," Carter muttered to her reflection. It truly had been a long time, almost three months actually. She wasn't pale, blonde, and delicate as Stranger appeared, mysteriously mature and calm as she was covered with makeup. She wasn't edgy and exotic like the purple-haired Cassandra, the one who flipped her long wavy hair in the wind with a carefree laugh. She wasn't smooth and silent like Kitty, the dark and serious girl who was now thrown into a pile of other forgotten characters.

No. Carter had red hair that fell in a straight sheet down her back before she cut it to just below her jawline with the scissors. Carter had dark green eyes that were haunted and solemn. Carter had sun-kissed skin with a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and on her neck, trailing down past her collar bones, to her chest, and dispersing around her navel. She always looked youngest in her true appearance. She looked scared and pitiable, in her eyes. Carter sighed, her green eyes displaying her inner turmoil and flickering uncertainly as the roamed across the body she had truly been born into.

It was a body that brought back memories she had that were supposed to be long buried. She fingered a tress of hair that had begun to curl slightly, still staring intently. If she focused enough, she could almost hear a voice.

_Your hair is quite beautiful, you know. I don't think I have such russet hair in my collection…_

Carter yanked her hair hard, yelping lightly at the pain. But it served its purpose and the glowing white eyes that always lurked within her thoughts had receded for the moment. Carter never realized that her chest was heaving and her eyes were sprinkled with unshed tears. She tried to convince herself that they were from the self-afflicted pain.

Maybe she should call up Slade, ask if he had a job waiting to get done that Stranger could do. She really didn't want to be Carter right now, that was for sure.

A loud and incessant banging echoed through the room, causing Carter to stub her toe before she rolled into an attempt at a battle ready stance. It would have worked better if the toilet hadn't been placed right next the sink. Instead, Carter's knees buckled when smashing against the porcelain throne and the redhead was thrown back and toppled onto the floor. She moaned in pain.

"Carter! Carter open up!"

And then she moaned in annoyance.

"I'm in the bathroom, give me a sec!" Carter hollered, wincing as she stood up. Even through the walls separating her apartment from the hallway, she could hear the petulant huff from behind the door.

No one had visited her all summer, and she was fine with that honestly. She wasn't particularly close to anyone from school and Bludhaven wasn't really the town to go out and meet new people either. There really was only one person who would seek her out like this.

Shoving on a camisole and sweatpants, the thirteen year old made her way to the still banging door. The knocking hadn't stopped even after she answered verbally. With a deep breath, Carter opened the door to a fist ready to knock attached to a girl with golden toned skin and black wavy hair down to her back. Her face was slightly chubby with excess fat that would surely disappear in her teen years, but as of that moment one check puffed out as the girl smiled crookedly, accentuating the freckles that nested on that cheek alone.

A tongue flickered from her mouth and slithered into a space where a tooth should have been.

Despite herself, Carter couldn't help the small grin sliding onto her face. Blocking the doorway with her arm and body, Carter spoke up, "Catalina, nice to see you. Now why are-"

The redhead never got to finish when Catalina simply ducked under her arm with happy chatter spewing from her mouth in the hurried way it always did. Carter rolled her eyes and held back a chuckle. "Yeah, yeah Carter. Nice to see you, too, blah blah blah…" Catalina quickly made herself at home like she always did, shoving some spare clothes off the couch and even flinging a pair of underwear away without so much of a flinch.

Her apartment was a mess of empty food cartons, water bottle, and clothes all sporadically thrown across the place. Carter's own room was clean, and that was only because her biology and genetics books were sitting in there with her textbooks and those things were expensive as all hell.

Carter never claimed she was the neatest of beings, not that Catalina ever minded. The redhead choked back a laugh when her friend scowled, moving to the kitchen before rummaging through her fridge and pantry. Tutting, the darker skinned girl admonished, "Don't you ever eat Carter? You know Trish said she'd give you some money and food stamps." Settling with a box of cereal Carter didn't even know she had, the guest swept a bowl from the sink and sat down on the seat she had previously cleared. Carter was on the verge of laughing when the girl sunk into her couch with a sigh and threw her feet up on the small coffee table in front of it. She instead decided on crossing her arms with a scowl for good show, still standing in the doorway.

"Catalina," Carter chimed forcefully, making the addressed girl twist her head towards the apartment's resident. Catalina hastily swallowed a cheek full of cereal before laughing nervously, the sound scratchy and uneven.

"Right. You got mail today or somethin', so Trish sent me here as a delivery girl," Catalina spoke before reaching into her back pocket, hand squeezing in between it and the couch cushion. With a few grunts and some wiggling that almost sent the bowl on her lap toppling to the floor, Catalina withdrew a crumpled envelope and threw it to the table.

Carter sighed again, a common occurrence when the dark haired girl was involved. "Why," she began with obvious exasperation in her voice, "would Trish ever send you out alone?" Walking over, Carter shoved her friend to the side with her foot before plopping down next to her. Swiftly, she stole the spoon from Catalina's hand and dug into the cereal.

Before Catalina could protest, Carter sent her a look that said, _It was my food in the first place,_ so the girl left her alone.

With a huff, Catalina shifted down further and sulked. Carter laughed through the cereal this time, only causing her guest to mope even more.

Catalina was two years younger than her, a solid eleven years old now, but despite the age difference they had somehow balanced each other out. Meeting her the day they and all the other Doll kids—for that's what they called them, or what was left of them—were brought to the Lee home for foster kids, somehow Catalina's bubbling annoyance of a personality just meshed well with the dark quietness of Carter's own ambiguous character. Catalina was nine at the time and followed an eleven year old Carter like a lost puppy, despite her brother Mateo's protests.

Other than that, Carter didn't know much about the girl. She was of some type of Hispanic descent, if not because of her and her brother's looks than because of the times she slipped into the foreign tongue at random times. As of her time before the incident that lead up to her foster care, Carter was in the dark. Not many foster kids like to regale people with their backstories, the Doll kids even less so, and Carter let them have their privacy as they let her have hers.

Honestly, Carter didn't mind it all that much, though. Catalina was cute and she had an understanding of the darkness in Carter's own life better than most people could even think to approach, and even then she was cheery and hopeful unlike the others. It was a nice contrast to everything else Carter knew, and spending time with the girl was heartwarming. Special, even. It made Carter feel as though she were a normal thirteen year old girl who laughed and played and scolded instead of the survivor.

"Mateo was supposed to come with, but I ditched him. He's always such un mamón," Catalina whined, switching to her native tongue briefly. Carter just scowled at the girl's carelessness, but said nothing else. Catalina wouldn't listen anyway. None of them really did authority.

"But, more importantly, I saw one of them today! I actually _saw_ her Carter!"

Carter choked on her food, sputtering out, "Her?" The redhead kept her eyes carefully trained downwards and away from Catalina's own brown ones. Her heart beat faster, but she was able to keep her breathing even and standard. Who else could she be talking about besides Kitty?

Carter's eyes flickered covertly to the bin full of black plastic bags just next to the bathroom door.

"Yeah! One of the girls who've been going around beating the crap out of the bad guys, Carter! La tomba have been buzzing with the news por los últimos meses!" Catalina gushed excitedly, and Carter's worries vanished. Despite knowing next to no Spanish, the redhead easily deduced that it wasn't Deathstroke or any of his clients that Catalina had grouped her with, but rather with a group of vigilantes. She hid her smile of relief by standing up to clean the bowl in the kitchen, Catalina's tiny form scrambling after her in exhilaration. Like always, the young girl just chattered away as if there was nothing else to do in the world, "Apparently they all look different, but always wear black shirts and cargo pants. And guess what? I saw one and she was _our_ age!"

She waved a hand in front of Carter's face in an attempt to see if the other girl was paying attention, and she was rewarded with a soft laugh.

So they thought that she was a group of people, did they? Well, then again it was a lot more plausible than one thirteen year old going out every night with completely different DNA and beating up bad guys. At least it was interesting to know what the populace knew about her.

Flicking soap from her hands and turning off the sink, Carter strode back towards the tiny living area.

"Carter, do you know what this means?" Catalina shouted, not yet running after her foster sister. Carter idly noted that in her excitement, the girl's accent was getting thicker and thicker.

"What?" Carter replied, humoring the little ball of energy once again rummaging through her cupboards. Carter paused upon seeing a black shirt and torn cargo pants lying to the side of the couch, left there from when she had changed. Blushing in embarrassment at her lack of foresight, the thirteen year old hastily dropped the articles of clothing in a laundry bin, piling the other clothes strewn across the room on top to cover them. Maybe she should be a little cleaner, and definitely more careful.

"It _means, _parce, that if they trained her maybe they'll train me, too! Then I could find that malparido del orto and kill him!" The last sentence Catalina said was almost a roar, inflection of fury biting its fangs into the words. Carter froze, hands tightening around a pair of innocent, if not stinky, socks. Her meager knowledge of Spanish did cover malparido, but she didn't need to know what it meant to know who Catalina was talking about with that venom in her voice. Carter's tanned face paled.

There was no way she would ever let Catalina do what she did or even go close to anyone like _him._ They weren't blood or even all that close to what people might call family or best friends, but Carter considered Catalina as one of the few people she liked and trusted. She was a friend who she cared about.

Besides, that man was already dead and rotting in Hell. Not that she could tell Catalina that. So instead of terrified and angry like she felt, Carter laughed, scoffing at the girl's words. "Catalina, you're absolutely crazy! There's no such thing as vigilantes!" she guffawed, pretending to hunch over with laughing pains when Catalina zipped out of the kitchen, protein bar shoved haphazardly into her mouth.

"I'm not loca!" she squeaked through the food, spitting bits and pieces across the carpet. Carter didn't mind, the floors were disgusting and needed to be cleaned anyway. "I bought this book, _Altered Egos_ by some Law guy, and it's like a set of biographies on vigilantes and heroes during World War II!" Catalina cried, stomping over to the still laughing Carter with angry eyes. The girl didn't have the sense to realize that the tears of mirth Carter wiped away weren't real or that Carter never would have laughed at the mention of the man she wanted to kill. "Who says Bludhaven can't have another group of them? And I saw her on my way here! She took down this creepy pedophile about to attack me!" the Hispanic orphan howled. Her gold face was stained red with indignation and annoyance.

"And that means she's part of this secret society of vigilantes?" Carter quipped, plastering on a smirk that barely held. She waved Catalina off and finally moved to drop the socks in the laundry bin, hefting it into her arms to put by the door.

"And because she wore a black shirt with cargo pants," Catalina added smugly.

"I really need to talk to Trish about you and those cartoons you watch," Carter jibed with a smile, flicking the back of Catalina's head. Ironically enough, the eleven year old was almost as tall as she was, which definitely said something about Carter's own height.

"But Carter, The Flaming C is so chévere, even if he never has the guts to actually kill Ultra. I wish I could do what he does," Catalina bemoaned in an attempt to defend her watching habits, but there was something else in her voice. A bitterness that sparked in her eyes for a moment and hooding them. Carter's snarky smile flittered away with a small frown.

"What about school?" she tried hopefully, brushing a hand through her red hair, frowning when she realized it had already knotted at the nape of her neck. Finger-combing the pesky snarls, Carter sat down on the couch.

"School is for bobos who think they'll actually get out of here," Catalina snarked, with a desperate whine. The eleven year old hated school with a passion, and probably would play hooky like seventy percent of their school if Trish hadn't been so adamant on at least a GED. Honestly, that book of biographies was probably the only bit of history Catalina was interested in, let alone being the only book the girl read without Carter or a teacher breathing down her neck.

Plucking another one of the protein bars from a pocket, Catalina unwrapped the thing slowly before munching down on it. Carter futilely wondered how many Catalina had swiped when she wasn't looking.

"You're the only one who takes it seriously, Carter," Catalina muttered, saddened.

"If you actually study unlike the others, you might be the one bobo who actually does get out of here," Carter answered lightly, carefully, squeaking when she accidently pulled too hard on her hair. Scowling, she dug both hands into her tresses to detangle the knot.

Glancing at the suddenly upset girl, Carter offered, "If you need help, I can tutor you."

Only, her words had the opposite effect. "You won't always be here," Catalina mumbled quietly. It was almost too quiet for Carter to hear, but the words had reached her and it took all her strength not to flinch. Glancing at the young girl through her thin lashes, Carter's frown grew deeper in worry. There it was again, the dark bitterness hanging in Catalina's gaze.

A heady and awkward silence blanketed the room for a while, Catalina suddenly scowling at the ground with an anxious and confused Carter afraid to broach the topic. Luckily, she wouldn't have to since the door slammed open to reveal a panting, dark-skinned fifteen year old whose black hair was sodden with sweat. Brown eyes roamed the apartment before zeroing in on Catalina hastily stuffing her face with another protein bar before saying in a muffled voice, "'Ey Mafay-o, wha' fook oo fo lon'?" The young girl hurriedly swallowed her food when her brother's eyes narrowed angrily.

Carter removed her hand from the dagger hidden between the couch seats with a relaxing breath.

"Catalina Marie Flores. What have I told you about roaming around without me?" Mateo's voice held nowhere near as much accent as Catalina's own squeaky one, and the broad slope of his shoulders and strong line of his jaw made him appear to be quite an intimidating older brother.

"But it was only to Carter's," Catalina whined in that high-pitched tone she used when she was in trouble. Carter snickered quietly behind her hand when Mateo sent his sister a death glare, ears blazing crimson in anger. He would be scary if one: Carter wasn't secretly training to beat the crap out of people, and if two: Carter didn't know that he would give in to Catalina's pleas and apologies in the next minute after promising him that, no dear brother, she would never do such a dangerous thing again. Which was a lie, of course. Every single time.

"Ala, estoy en la olla!" Catalina cried before running back to the kitchen. Probably to steal more food, Carter mourned with a sigh.

"Yes, you are!" Mateo snapped. "And you!" he yelled, staring into Carter's green eyes. Quickly Carter raised her hands in surrender before smiling in a nervous gesture. "She listens to you. Why don't you tell her to stop being stupid!"

"Oi, I don't like it either, and I scolded her. She just doesn't listen to anybody," Carter said placating him. "Catalina, stop running around alone!" she called to the kitchen. "See, totally laying down the law."

The redhead smirked at the older boy's exasperated groan.

"She hasn't learned, and you so don't help, Carter," the boy moaned, foot tapping impatiently on her bland rug.

"If I could stop her I would, Matt," Carter muttered seriously, no longer joking. She didn't want anything to happen to the little girl, or to her brother for that matter. They were as close to family as she'd ever get.

"You're the one who gave her ideas when you convinced Trish to let you move out and abandoned us."

It was a harsh remark, one that stung enough to make Carter flinch, but the girl had no time to respond because Catalina was hurrying back out of the kitchen, shoving two more wrapped bars in her pocket.

"Did you at least give her the letter?" Mateo asked louder, signifying to Carter that he was done with the conversation. The thirteen year old frowned.

With a cheeky smile, Catalina chirped happily, "Sí, we can go now! And if we make focaccia tonight, I promise I'll never do it again!"

Sending a quick look back at Carter, Mateo grumbled, "I don't even know what focaccia is, Catalina, let alone how to make it." He and his sister stepped out into the hall and began to walk away.

The raspy laughter of Catalina's echoed through the building and into her room. It was so unique and distinctly Catalina, that Carter found herself almost closing her eyes and leaning into it. That laughter, their voices, it was the closest thing to home she allowed in her life and she left them to fend for themselves.

No, not for themselves, Carter realized. They had each other at the very least, unlike what she had. They didn't need her at the foster home; Trisha already had too many kids to look after as it was. Besides, her and her bad decisions were horrible news and she didn't want to expose the Flores siblings to any bits of the world she now straddled.

Another scratchy laugh and Carter jumped up from the couch, rushing out after them without another thought. The two siblings hadn't even reached the stairs when Carter grabbed a hold of Catalina's scrawny arm, serious look upon her face.

They looked at her in confusion, something Carter easily ignored.

"Killing people isn't something you should joke about. No matter who it is, killing is still murder and a death is still sad," she whispered to the girl, voice weak. She really hoped her voice hadn't wavered with emotion. If Catalina listened to anything, Carter wished, prayed, that those words would be it.

But then the eleven year old's eyes grew headier with that strange glint, and Catalina murmured, "That doesn't stop others, mona. And who said I was joking?"

The Flores simply eased her arm out of Carter's stunned grip before dragging her confused and wary brother down the stairs and out of the building.

Standing there for a full couple of minutes, Carter hadn't realized she was trembling until one of the apartment's other residents brushed by her and she fell to her knees.

Carter stared at the stairs for a good while, ignoring the previously insufferable heat and completely disregarding the fact that her door was open to any and all guests who wished to enter at the moment. She just stayed there, on her knees, until the old man who lived in the first apartment of the hall screeched at her for blocking the way. Carter quietly stood and moved aside so that he and his cane could pass before return to her dingy apartment, messy and lonely and empty, closing the door silently behind her.

Carter walked by the laundry basket and to the well-worn couch she had been sitting on with Catalina just a while ago. She thought back to Catalina's excitement at seeing Kitty, her thirst to train, and Carter knew all too well the anger within her gaze.

The fresh memory of her words still hung in her head.

What had she meant? No, Carter knew what she meant, it wouldn't take a genius to figure that out. The real question was, did she actually _mean_ it?

Crying out, Carter kicked the coffee table out of pure frustration and it flew towards the wall. It wasn't until the table crashed against the doorframe to her kitchen that Carter realized how stupid that move had been. It did nothing but add dents and scuffs to an already crumbling piece of architecture, however Carter never moved to fix the thing.

Head in hands, Carter breathed in sharply and out, thinking of ways to dissuade Catalina's odd and sudden obsession with vigilantes.

"Of all the damn books in the world," Carter mumbled into her palm, eyes squeezed shut. Maybe she should stop going out at nights, get some actual sleep for once in her life and even spend a couple more hours with the girl to prove she didn't need to go out and prove herself or get revenge. Maybe Carter could convince her to leave it be and deviate her energy into more positive actions. That might work if Catalina realized that her little secret society was no longer around. Maybe she'd even petition for The Flaming C to be taken off the air.

Sighing, Carter just wanted to be done with Bludhaven at the moment. Her city only seemed to be good at taking things away without reprieve.

Running a hand through her hair, Carter fished a hand around her sweatpants pocket for her phone, only to come up with old wrappers and a receipt or two.

Right, she thought annoyed, it was on the table she kicked into a frickin' wall. When she went to retrieve the device, she noticed the letter Catalina had been sent to drop off. Carter had completely forgotten about the crumpled thing, so unused to people sending her mail. Kneeling, she picked up the envelope and chuckled: it was already open. Weird.

"That's totally a felony," Carter babbled. As she was attempting to remove the contents, a stapled stack of folded papers fell out with another envelope, unused. Confused, Carter instead focused solely on the paper still in her hand. It was thicker than regular printing paper, like the fancy card stock some businesses used. This only confused her more.

Slowly unfolding it, Carter's eyes widened. She read the paper once, then twice, and another two more times for good measure, but the words never changed and the inked remained securely where it was, not moving an inch. It had to be a joke, she had never applied for anything like-

Trish, Carter realized. The woman had always begged her to go somewhere else, that she was wasted in Bludhaven, but they never had the money to send any of the fees. She must have been the one who sent in Carter's info. Placing the letter down, she moved to the other papers, filled with logistics and signups and several lines for signatures. There, at the bottom of the last page, was her guardian's own script in blue pen. _Trisha Lee_, it read crisply. That definitely explained the open envelope.

Carter went back to the first paper, her thumb rubbing incessantly on the side of her finger. This time she read it out loud, as if hearing the words in her voice would make it more real to her:

"_Dear Miss Carter Collins,_

_I am delighted to inform you that you have been awarded a full Wayne Foundation Scholarship to the Gotham Academy. This will include TUITION and all EXPENSES._

_Usually, the Wayne Foundation selects a single student, who they choose with great care. However, this year the Wayne Foundation has chosen you as well as four other students to better expand our institute's community as well as your own knowledge and character. You and these four other talented students have been chosen while taking into consideration the candidate's academic achievements and diverse backgrounds as well as the individual's character and extracurricular strengths. _

_Naturally, the final decision to attend remains yours, but we hope that you will choose to join us at Gotham Academy. The enrollment paperwork and envelope are included with this letter if you so choose to attend._

_Sincerely,_

_Philip Wilcox_

_Dean of Admissions and Financial Aid._"

It was complete with the Wilcox's own John Hancock at the bottom.

She could escape Bludhaven. With just a signature, she would be free of this tormented city of hers and all the hurt it had caused. Then again, she'd be leaving Catalina and Mateo and Trish and all the Doll kids to fend for themselves once more. The grime of Bludhaven would rise unfettered into crime.

But hadn't she just been playing with the idea of dropping her vigilante act? Halting her nightly routine in the hopes of squelching Catalina's curiosity and hunger? But she had also stated she'd use that time to help the girl through this phase, steer her clear of the same decisions Carter made.

Mateo. Catalina had Mateo, though, a brother and support and guiding compass that was absent in Carter's own life. Surely he could do that and guide Catalina to the right place?

And besides, if she went to Gotham… she might meet that little team of sidekicks, and if not, then just the boy wonder. Maybe if she met him again, fought him again, she would understand that thrill that jolted up her spine and made her feel _alive_ while fighting him. It was something visceral that she couldn't explain, and Carter knew she shouldn't wish for anything past what she already had—she was lucky with that, really—but the redhead couldn't help it. It was a taste of something interesting, intoxicating, and better than anything she knew.

Was that selfish?

She could at least sign it and fill it out if she eventually decided to go, Carter mused, nabbing a pen and doing just that. Sealing the envelope with her saliva, Carter paused and stared at it.

Shoving the envelope in her pocket for later, Carter picked up her laundry basket before hauling the thing downstairs to the basement. Her apartment was one of the lucky few with laundry rooms, though one had to stay for the two or so hours it took to clean them if they wanted all their clothes to still be there. Carter always passed this time with book she left at the bottom of the bin for times like these.

This time it was _Evolutionary Genomics and Proteomics _by Mark Pagel and Andrew Pomiankowski, a text she had been meaning to look into for a while now. Not that she could actually read at the moment, seeing as her mind was convoluted with thoughts and implications of that piece of paper upstairs, harmlessly laying on her table.

When her laundry was ready, she took the time to fold everything there while the clothes still hummed with warmth, numbly going through the motions. To Carter, the three hours she spent passed in a flash and the next thing she knew she was carrying a full bin of clean clothes out of the basement.

Striding through the lobby, her eyes jolted to a trashcan, envelope burning a hole in her pants.

Bludhaven was her city, no matter the troubles that festered there like and untended wound. She grew up there, cried there, and laughed there. She knew what the streets did to people while growing up.

Walking, Carter eyed the black garbage can, biting her lip before turning her path towards it. It was awkward, fumbling with her laundry and getting it out of her pocket, but soon enough the letter was in her hand.

Bludhaven was her city. How could she even think to leave it?

Carter passed by the trash can and slipped the letter into the outgoing mail box, just next to the building's entrance. Slowly, dazedly, she ascended the stairs to her apartment and dropped the laundry off somewhere. She didn't remember where she put her stuff, but that didn't matter.

Instinctually, Carter went for her cell, dialing and unsaved number before raising it to her ear.

"I told you not to call me on this phone unless it was important."

Carter didn't answer or rebuke Deathstroke's statement, instead only saying, "I want to do a job."

There was a grunt of assent on the phone before the call was ended. Just a moment later an encrypted text bleeped on her screen and Carter went through the motions of getting ready for the change. She cleared a space, laid down the bags, and got the razor and trash bin ready.

For some reason, Carter had the distinctly poisonous feeling that she had failed in some way.

She always hated failure.

**There are a good three or four references (important to the story or not) in this chapter to other DC related things (or just WB/YJ stuff), so tell me if you notice them! :) Idk if this chapter is good or if its everywhere, but I wanted a chapter dedicated to who CARTER is not Stranger or her misguided vigilante self. This chapter itself is very important as a turning point, or at least a catalyst to a turning point, for Carter as well, so super important. **

**The Spanish itself is mainly slang particular to a certain area of South America with a few regular phrases spliced in as well. I'm not a native speaker, so I tried my best and sorry if any of it is wrong. Really the phrases aren't that important, and Carter doesn't know any of them so I didn't feel like translating was necessary. However, the ones I will point out are La Tomba - slang for police, and the switch of Catalina using parce - close friend to mona/o - foreigner (usually this one is used simply because it refers to, slang wise, a fair-haired or skinned person, further extended to someone who isn't from the Hispanic's home. Catalina uses it because... well, you tell me ;) )**

**Next chapter will be in the middle of her requested mission.**

**Hope you enjoyed, please give me feedback.**

**Thank you for reading, Koby Out.**


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